


Late

by Erradianwhocantread



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Rule 63, some fresh gay nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erradianwhocantread/pseuds/Erradianwhocantread
Summary: Fingon receives extremely short notice that there is a very important council being held on how to best defend the northern border against fire-drakes. She arrives late. Gay nonsense ensues.





	Late

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, fidelishaereticus, for the very detailed prompt. 
> 
> If you don't like rule 63, or have strong objections to genderswapping characters, you won't like this and should probably go find other, more canon-compliant fanfiction to read instead that you will enjoy more.

How,  _ how _ , Fingon wondered for the umpteenth thousandth time, did a falcon get lost? Such things should not be possible, and should, besides, be too petty a concern for the Doom, and  _ yet _ ! She did not even wait for her horse to stop before leaping from it and making as quickly as she could for the council chamber in Angrod’s keep. She had been halfway to Hithlum when her damned delinquent bird had finally found its way to her and delivered the summons to a very urgent meeting regarding defenses against these new fire-drakes along the front, over a day after it should have gotten there… From now on they would only use palantiri to do this. More reliable, more secure, wouldn’t result in her ass being sore from riding herself and her horse near to death… She was completely out of breath by the time she burst through the door, didn’t even want to think about the state of her hair or her clothes. “Dearest cousins, please,  _ please  _ accept my sincerest apologies for my tardiness, the falcon that wa--” The room was empty. The room was empty save Maedhros, who was slumped at the head of the table, her entire body radiating an ire so intense that it would have knocked over one who was  _ not  _ wedded to her, and looked like she’d been contemplating fratricide before Fingon had entered. 

 

Fingon wasn’t late. She’d missed the whole damn thing. Maedhros’ siblings must have had fun with  _ that _ , and of course Angrod and Aegnor had risen to the bait. More than anything she wanted to reach out to Maedhros, soothe her beloved’s fury, but Maedhros wouldn’t take that very well in this mood. 

 

Maedhros locked eyes with her, and her face went from depressed fury, to unamused incredulity, and then disappeared entirely behind her (beautiful) hair as she bowed her head. From behind the copper curtain of her hair there came a sudden and ugly bray of laughter, which devolved into a helpless cackling. Tears were starting at Maedhros’ eyes and she clutched her sides, nearly falling from her chair at least once. Eventually she managed to choke out between the laughter “You… you missed the whole meeting! You just… the whole thing!” Fingon was not sure she understood what was funny about that, but she was very glad that at least it  _ was  _ funny, and that her arriving at the exact worst moment transmuted her beloved’s mood from irritated fury to helpless mirth. She felt the block on their bond that almost always accompanied Maedhros’s darker moods now crumble away and felt the humor of the perfect absurdity of it all infecting her, and she crossed quickly to stand in front of Maedhros, who was struggling valiantly to pull herself together. “You… you missed a… ah…” Maedhros cleared her throat and adopted a very serious and very false air. “You missed a very lengthy and very serious meeting to discuss defenses against fire drakes along our northern borders, your Highness.”

 

Fingon, less successfully, tried to adopt similar airs, but she could feel the echoes of amusement, the relief that she had come at all, the joy in her presence, and the underlying lust into which the earlier frustration had channelled itself, and that didn’t do her already poor acting any favors. “Yes, you will have to pardon me for that. The falcon that was sent lost its way. I set out as soon as it managed to find it. You shall have to tell me what transpired in my absence. Though,” Fingon tried as best she could to recall their grandfather’s cold, disapproving correction to her face. “It seems like a foolish oversight to have the meeting at all without the Crown Prince and the foremost expert on defeating fire drakes present to advise you.”

 

Maedhros hummed in ambiguous agreement and took her right hand. Fingon slipped her left around the false one, taking the hint. “Unfortunately it could not be helped. Caranthir is departing as we speak to conduct a trade agreement with the Naugrim. They are generous, but they are neither patient nor forgiving. We feared her tardiness would prove more difficult to correct than your absence.”

 

Fingon quirked a brow at that. “We? Have you forgotten, Maedhros Feanorian,” she admonished, dropping her beloved’s hands and placing them on the back of her chair, “that you no longer wear the crown? Must I report treason as well as discord among the march lords?”

 

“You wound me, your Highness. I spoke of the assembled council, for there was much discussion on which course were best to take before it was decided. I would offer to give you proofs of my loyalty,” Maedhros hands had settled low on Fingon’s hip and Fingon felt herself being tugged teasingly forward. “However. As I said, the meeting was very lengthy, and as I fear I shall need quite some time to catch you up on it as well as to get your much needed input, such tests will have to wait.”

 

Fingon bent down until her lips brushed against Maedhros’s ear. “And suppose I require the proofs immediately?”

 

It had not occurred to her that putting her mouth at Maedhros’s ear would put Maedhros’s mouth at her own neck. “I am a clever Noldo. I’m sure I can manage to provide both at once. Though it shall take me until at least this time tomorrow to do so.” Another tug against her hips and a brush of lips at her neck and Fingon fell, laughing with delight, into Maedhros lap. 

 

Maedhros had made short work of her outer garments, ruined her hair even more, let several bits of finely worked gold from mangled braids fall unceremoniously to the floor, probably left at least three bruises on her neck, and nearly had her out of her undershirt when Fingon was reminded in the worst possible manner that she had neglected to bar the door to the council chamber. It opened. It opened, and she heard Maglor muttering “I must have left it in here then, if it’s-- Oh.” 

  
Fingon’s immediate instinct was to pull her undershirt down and try to restore herself as swiftly as possible to some semblance of dignity, probably but removing herself from Maedhros’s lap, but Maedhros held her firmly in place, body and spirit. “ _ Out! _ ” Maedhros barked with all the command she used with her troops. Fingon heard the door close again. She should get up to bar the door. If Maglor could stumble in, anyone could. “You do that,” Maedhros growled against her neck, “and I won’t give you the present I brought from Himring.” Fingon wasn’t sure if that, or the kisses that followed were the more compelling argument.


End file.
